Hardened
by unseemly
Summary: Arthas has a life-altering experience; and Sylvanas has some fun. Naughtiness, mild torture, and sexual teasing. Shameless crack. Rated M for adult situations and language.


**Blizzard owns Warcraft.**

**...**

**A Dedication: **

**To the uber-talented knaga/Hidari, author of "Immodesty" - that very pinnacle of titillation and wordsmithery!**

**Did you think I had _forgotten?_ Did you think you were _safe_ from the thumpings of my demented plot bunnies? **

**Ha!**

**_No._ **

**...**

Hardened

…

Cursing and thrashing in his restraints, Arthas Menethil was not _nearly_ done expressing his wrath.

_ "Comfy?"_ a cold voice hissed with familiar spite. "You indescribable bastard."

_"Sylvanas..." _the Lich King growled, instantly recognizing the long-absent, but still-infuriating owner of that opinion. "Enjoy yourself while you can, you ass-eared _bitch, _your paltry magic will not hold me long!_"_

As if his words were in fact a compliment, Sylvanas Windrunner smiled, raising one hand to toss back her cowl, fully revealing the gracefully sweeping subjects of that disparagement. "That's ass**_-kicking_** bitch to _you,"_ she purred, applying a deliberate, sensual caress to both of her elongated ears, shivering from the sensation, her gloating ruby eyes half-lidded and fixed upon her prisoner. "And rest assured, I _am_ enjoying myself," she informed him, strolling around the raised platform where the ferocious Master of the Scourge lay outstretched before her – stark-naked and furiously-seething – compelled to submission by the binding magic that held him.

Savoring the coveted moment to its fullest, Sylvanas eyed him thoroughly, from the top of his snowy head to his tense bare toes, and with the sort of blatantly-smug satisfaction that soon had Arthas snarling with ire. "As I have been forced to endure _your_ wrath," she then said with a sneer, "I think it is high time _you_ dealt with _mine_."

Sliding her fingertips across his ashen skin, she pressed her hands to his powerful chest, slowly stroking its stunning contours; and gazing raptly into that cruel, arrogant face she **_so_** loved to hate, the Dark Lady added delicious insult to his fury by taking excruciating liberties with an icy nipple, and audaciously tickling his navel, taunting him as he struggled, enraged by her impudent touch.

Holding dominion over such a murderous creature, even if only briefly, was incredibly exhilarating; for _his_ anger was unlike any other in its weight and in its dimension. This, of course, only encouraged the unforgiving elf to explore even greater heights of restrictive creativity. The Lich King grunted his outrage as she tightened her magical grip.

With cold joy did she ponder him, regarding his captive flesh as her unwilling canvas and reveling in the intensely pleasurable thought of using his black, necrotic blood to create a masterpiece of pain.

While deeply satisfying to imagine, _pain_ was not her actual objective; it scarcely moved him anyway. No, she had something much worse in mind for The Beast. Deliberately and boldly she handled him, exulting in his escalating rage, as he discovered for himself that despite all his strength and resistance he could not escape the magic she had called upon to restrain him.

"You _do_ realize I will make a gory, murdered mess of you for this affront..." Arthas remarked in as conversational a tone as his rage allowed.

"You already _did,_ monster," Sylvanas mocked, slowly raking her fingers through his hair, for the pure pleasure of infuriating him, knowing very well how much he hated being touched.

"Then I will _**kill you some more**,"_ he shouted, tossing his head in an expected but futile attempt to rid himself of her caress. "With _great_ pleasure will I tear you into _**very small, screaming pieces**__!"_ He bared his teeth with an obvious intention. "I will then_ **eat**_ you, elf! _And do not think for a moment it will be in a **good** way, either!" _

Sylvanas could only assume this was a promise.

Tightening her fingers in his hair, she tugged with happy, harsh abandon, smiling as his neck arched painfully in response to the unrelenting pressure. She studied his glower of antipathy with elation. "You are now under _my_ power," she told him, "and you may enjoy _only_ what **_I_** allow you, Lich King. Do you really think I've gone to so much trouble for you without a reason? _No_." She leaned over him, still smiling. "The energies holding you are three separate, expertly layered magical disciplines, braided together by a certain archmage of your past acquaintance to form one binding principle. Designed specifically to restrain vile, chaotic powers. _You,_ in other words."

"Ah... _Kael'thas,_ I presume. How fares your precious, prissy Sun King? Still pining for what was never his?"

"Never really _yours_ either, it seems…" Sylvanas was pleased to remind him, incurring an uncaring but grouchy sneer. "And I am quite certain," she added bitterly, "that the destruction of the Sunwell and the near genocide of the elven people compels our Prince far more now than any memories of your mutual _love_ interest, Proudmoore – _or_ your lawless days of lust and competition at Dalaran."

Arthas smiled faintly, his eyes narrowing as half-forgotten memories stirred. _"Shame_ on you Kael," he drawled. "_Kiss and tell…" _The smile widening into a sly grin. "It might surprise you what your darling prince was willing to do to get what he wanted." He chortled malevolently. "Pissed me off _then_. Kind of _impresses_ me now."

"Kael'thas Sunstrider would _never_ stoop to _your_ level..."

"Oh I think it's fair to say Kael _invented_ stoopage..._" _Arthas replied with wicked glee. "Nor is it an over-exaggeration to say Jaina had _all_ her fantasies fulfilled _that_ summer…" he snorted soft laughter, "...blue scales and sharp teeth being the one notable exception..."

Sylvanas squinted wonderingly. "I see now an additional _silencing spell _would have been prudent," she huffed, "but I have my Prince's assurance that _nothing_ in your arsenal will unravel this magic soon, Lich King." She paused to smile her satisfaction, adding, "You're trussed up like a Winter Veil goose, you hateful thing. _At **my** mercy."_

_"Mercy..."_ Arthas growled. "Ha."

"Your lapdogs will not find you before I am finished," the Banshee Queen promised. "Kel'Thuzad will not save you _this_ time." She laughed, straightening, moving to saunter around the platform once again. Arthas's glowing eyes glittered, savage and cunning, following her every move. "I have you _precisely_ where I want you..." Sylvanas whispered, her gaze as ruthless as his own, "and I _fully_ intend to even the scales, _at long last_. Let us see if your infamous wrath can truly equal _mine_, shall we?"

His rage now fully incited, Arthas was uncaring of her intentions. _"Come ahead,"_ he snarled. "I will not be your prisoner _forever_," a cold, vicious grin followed, "_and_ _then_ – "

Sylvanas smirked. He was now _hers_ to do with as she _pleased;_ and for but one such long-desired, triumphant moment, she would willingly brave even the gravest of consequences.

"I am sure you recall my poisoned arrow," the banshee crooned in Arthas's ear, applying a stinging pinch to its frigid lobe. He hissed at her and she smiled again. "I was blinded by revenge, you see. At the time, I only wanted to kill you. Well... torture, maim, and _then_ kill you, but _now..._" she bent closer still to consider him at length; and folding her arms, she leaned familiarly upon his chest, happily imposing upon him. His enraged response inspired in her a quiver of pure delight; and as it was of an intensity ordinarily precluded by undeath, Sylvanas was all the more jubilant. "I have given this matter a _great_ deal of thought," she informed him, "and I have something much more amusing in mind for _you."_ She patted his cheek, giggling with malicious joy when he growled and tried to bite her. "You are going to torture _yourself_. I can think of nothing more appropriate, can you? I do so wish to hear you _beg_."

There was the anticipated, disdainful grunt, followed by a haughty sneer.

"Oh, you think not, do you? Well, I have something for you, you see, something to make you, let us say, a bit more _compliant _to my will."

The responding glower of contemptuous rage was very much in character for the proud Prince of Darkness.

Again, she strolled around the room, and still Arthas watched her with wrathful, suspicious eyes. When she returned to his side, Sylvanas lifted a most curious object, turning it in her fingers for his scrutiny. Long, slim, and sharp, a bit like a triangular needle, it was crystalline, as if made of ice. Inclining her head, she lightly tapping the object against her lower lip. Her quick tongue flicked out to taste it and she smiled wickedly.

"Care to guess what _this_ is?" she teased, twirling the needle between thumb and forefinger. She then began sliding it slowly along the arch of his clavicle.

Arthas rumbled menacingly, _"I will..."_

_ "_You'll_ what?"_ she hissed, turning the object and shoving the full length of it into the center of his chest, approximately where his absent heart should be, but of course, was not.

Arthas grunted from its sudden, shockingly-painful intrusion. Simultaneously, he was assailed by an instructive memory – that of plunging Frostmourne into the ice over the frozen grave of a great dragon...

He frowned with this recollection, even as the pain began to dissolve away; but it left behind in residue, a glowing, growing warmth, and the frown became a grimace of discomfort. The blossoming heat deepened as the moment extended itself, and then a startled gasp escaped the Lich King as he recognized the compulsion that suddenly seized him. It seemed an eternity had passed since he had last felt living response; the faculty was scarcely even a memory beneath the ice grip of the dark powers that had held him enthralled for so long.

Increasing, the stifling sensation engulfed him entirely, until he felt quite feverish. He squinted, gasping in almost painful pleasure as long-unfelt warmth flooded through him, his frozen body shivering from its intensity. What followed then was yet another unexpected and thoroughly undesired effect – that of _overwhelming_ arousal.

"Oh shit," Arthas muttered, glaring at his tormentor for forcing this once-evicted interloper upon him.

"Will you look at _that_," Sylvanas murmured, "My, how impressive." Her chilly fingers moved to caress him intimately, their cool, light brush against his suddenly overheated flesh was unbearably exciting. Arthas gasped, rolling his eyes downward, only to be greeted by the horrifying sight of a familiar, now-snowy obelisk, jutting up from its nest of frosty white hair; and it was a forceful, manly salute, a rigid promise never to wither, droop, nor disappoint. To his astonishment, there were _runes_ etched all along its stiffened length. _And they were glowing._

_ "Shit,_" he repeated, his voice a bit hushed with shocked alarm.

"As it was an overabundance of _passion_ that got you into trouble to begin with, I had this special brew made just for you, and by my most talented alchemists," Sylvanas said, slowly stroking the robust tower of wanton flesh; she kissed its smooth, achingly-overheated head, lightly squeezing the scorching shaft. Arthas croaked an unintelligible protest, watching the smiling elf with furious but increasingly anxious eyes.

"_Undead_ alchemists, of course," she added, "So you see, once again you have no one to blame but yourself, _Lich_ King."

Sylvanas studied her handiwork with amused satisfaction; the effects were even more _vigorous _than anticipated. Kneading his lean ribs with both hands, and relishing the empowering sensation of formidable muscles quivering with unwilling response to her inciting touch, the Banshee Queen pressed nearer still, studying her uneasy captive with malicious cheer. "Give us a kiss," she instructed, tapping the tip of Arthas's nose with one finger, "but no _biting,_" she insisted, as her cold, soft lips attacked and commandeered his own in a lingering, excitingly-brutal caress, forcing upon him an irresistible hunger for _more._

Try as he might to contain it, a lustful snort escaped the Lich King, and though he strove to reclaim the icy indifference that had once served him so well, he could not resist raising his head with a hoarse whine of longing even as she teased and drew away.

Sylvanas twittered, reveling in the thrill of success. Her hated enemy was beginning to look a bit desperate, she was overjoyed to see, as full awareness moved to inform him that he was now helplessly caught in her malevolent web. And to remove any lingering doubt, or hope of resistance, she touched the wildly-cooperative organ, tightening her lightly stroking fingers upon it.

Arthas flinched, and though he ached to respond, he struggled mightily to suppress it as the very thought of giving the Banshee Queen what she wanted was absolutely intolerable to him. This feat required every last fragment of his rapidly dwindling will; but resistance was costly, he quickly discovered, as it only served to escalate the drug's potent effect. So as it happened, the harder he struggled, _the harder he became._

His growled curses of umbrage and furious denial were as divine music to Sylvanas's vengeful ears; and she goaded him until he was panting and writhing in an agony of desire. The runes burned him like brands.

"Now," Sylvanas said, inclining an idle finger towards the shadows, "I'll be right over there... _watching,_ while you two become _reacquainted_." She snickered, and one pale spike of an eyebrow peaked with exultant spite. "Don't hesitate to _call_ when you _need_ me..." she added, "and you _will."_

"Old _gods,"_ the Lich King whispered as she strolled away; his raging cock was straining in the departing elf's direction like a hungry hound on a short leash, and pulsing to the rhythm of her fading footsteps. Arthas glared at the preposterous organ, struggling to focus his crazed mind upon _anything_ but its demanding suggestions.

_"Goddamn_ you," he hissed, "you _stupid_ thing! I see you will still embrace _any_ degradation to be the center of attention!" There was no remorse. The reprobate did not bow its pretty head in shame. Rather, it stood willfully at attention, beleaguering him with a flurry of reminding sensations that were making him seriously doubt his most recent life choices.

This was when, to Arthas's astonishment, the **_event_** occurred.

**"_Hey_**_!_ Hey there, Arthas! What's **_up_**_?"_ his rampaging boner rather unexpectedly inquired. "Besides _me, _that is. Ha! Ha! I dare say out_standing_ is not an overstatement!" The wee orifice on the tip of his penis was moving as a tiny mouth might, emitting what was, undeniably, his very own voice. Arthas gaped at this phenomenon; and then, to his stunned disbelief, the garrulous appendage demonstrated its flexibility of function by puckering up its foreskin and winking lasciviously at him. "Ready to woo and wow?" it asked further. "Let's make the earth _move!" _

When Arthas still did not respond, past widening eyes and a strange, garbled sound of indeterminable meaning, his penis flexed, propelling itself forward to tap his belly, forcing a shout of surprise from the Dark Lord of the Dead.

_ "I'm **co**__**ld**!"_ the suddenly-peevish organ bellowed, "I have _needs! _I want warm! I want wet! I want to be cuddled and _**squeezed**! _You've been very selfish with me of late, but that is going to _**change** – starting right the **fuck** now!" _

Arthas could but stare, incapable of speech.

He had only _thought_ the damned thing was demanding in his previous, mortal life.

"Now _there's_ a word," his cock declared. "_Fuck_. Fuckfuckfuck. Ooooh. And speaking of which, where's _Jaina?" _The tiny lips seemed to smack. Had Arthas not already been as pallid as death itself, he absolutely would have blanched at the sight. "I so _drool_ at the very thought of her..._"_

And indeed, such was _not_ an exaggeration, Arthas noted to his horror.

"I am _hallucinating,_" he assured himself, in a thoroughly unnerved whisper; and closing his eyes, he willed his mind to reject the yammering delusion. Provoked to irritated action by this attempt at dismissal, his testy penis lunged forward yet again, slapping his belly emphatically. With another roar of startled indignation, Arthas completely lost what little concentration he had managed to collect in the midst of this harrowing lunacy.

Happy trills of laughter from the shadows assured the Lich King of what he already knew as fact: there would be _no_ relief forthcoming from _that_ quarter.

"_Heads_ up!" his penis screeched (slap, slap, slap), "Bwahaha! I'm starting to feel _unappreciated_ here!"

It was then that the Dark Lord heard an affirmative grumble, an undertone as it were, beneath the mad babble of his loquacious cock; and then certainty was his when a loud, irate voice suddenly hollered: _"How about we get some action!"_

This thoughtful statement was followed by a second, equally aggressive voice, "Yeah, we've been _blue_ down here for too goddamned long!"

"Stop!" Arthas shouted, unable to bear another moment of what had to be a drugged delirium visited upon him by that_ infernal, malicious elf! "I command you to _**_stop__!"_**

"Never heard the word," his penis replied. "Don't know what it means. **_Don't._ C_are_."** Suddenly then, it stiffened proudly, inclining deliberately into his direct line of sight... and if a cock could smile,_ it did_. "Now find me a hole to my liking!" it insisted, "_or you're gonna__ achieve maximum level Cum Beard in... three... two... ONE!__"_

_ "_**_Sylvanas_**_!" _Arthas howled...

...

_ "Arthas? Arthas!"_ a voice was calling distantly, _"Wake up!"_

Arthas cautiously opened one eye. Jaina was leaning over him solicitously, her tousled hair a golden, glowing halo around her pretty face. Her round, soft breasts were pressed to his sweaty, heaving chest and he stared at these pink twin temptresses in rapturous wonder, feeling a surge of appreciation from down below. He could only cringe, however, in dread anticipation of the demanding voice.

"Are you alright?" his bed-mate inquired. "You were screaming your head off."

"Jaina?" he whispered tentatively, fearing yet another delusion.

"Why _yes_," was her reply. "Who else?" She tilted her head with a worried frown. "Are you ill? You're all sweaty and hot."

Arthas squinted, pensive and struggling for clarity; shortly he sighed in recollection.

_ Yes. They had made camp for the night. On the road to Stratholme_…

A bit dazed and confused, the prince raised both hands to vigorously rub his face. In a moment, he gave Jaina a wan smile. "I realize that I've been unreasonable these past few days," he said, "but I'm seeing things a bit more clearly, and I think I know what to do now. You were right all along, this is definitely _not_ the time for rash decisions."

"Well, _finally_, a show of common sense!" Jaina cried, embracing him, almost weeping with relief. He _had_ been acting so recklessly irrational of late, as if dire and dangerous circumstances were poised to turn him in a darker direction. Not at all the man she knew and adored. She scoffed at what now seemed an unfounded fear, one that had harried her with dreadful, half-realized apprehensions.

_ No_, _he would never turn from the Light! Not her sweet prince! _

Arthas studied her warmly, with a grateful sigh. He winked, giving her his most endearing smile.

She giggled, _"Again? _Why, you **_beast,_** you! Do you think of nothing else?"

"Apparently not," he replied with a sheepish grin.

Jaina smiled, giving him a lusty kiss, to which he responded wholeheartedly. She chuckled fondly as her hand wandered down his willing body, warm fingers gripping him with gentle urgency.

_ Yeeaahh... _A horribly familiar voice echoed in his head. Arthas flinched and then winced slightly, as Jaina's hand tightened uncomfortably. She leaned closer still, until their noses touched.

"Now then," she whispered with dangerous calm, "just _who_ in the _hell _is _**Sylvanas**?" _

...


End file.
